


Lordy Lordy...

by quiet__tiger



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Birthday, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-23
Updated: 2017-04-23
Packaged: 2018-10-23 05:48:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10713462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: Bruce creates a crisis for himself.





	Lordy Lordy...

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Birthday."
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal 11th-Mar-2009.

Sighing, Alfred placed his tray of champagne-filled glasses on a table, looked around to make sure no one was watching him, and made his way down to the Batcave. He found Bruce right where he thought he’d be, sitting in his chair and watching the monitors. He walked over and stood close enough so he could not be disregarded.

He almost smirked when he realized Bruce was pointedly ignoring him. “Master Bruce. I’m aware it’s past nine in the evening, but this particular evening sees friends and family in the Manor who desire to wish you a happy birthday.”

The only reaction Alfred could see was that Bruce took longer to click between images.

“Sir, I must insist--”

“I didn’t think I’d make it this long.”

The rest of Alfred’s plea for Bruce to join his party was swallowed as he heard the unhappy statement. Because it _was_ unhappy, which seemed odd if Alfred was interpreting the statement correctly. As he stood there waiting for Bruce to continue, one hand came from behind his back to rest along the top edge of the heavy chair where Bruce spent so much time.

He was starting to think he’d have to prompt him when Bruce said, “Forty. I didn’t think I’d see it.”

 _Oh_. “Sir?”

Bruce stretched back, finally looking Alfred in the eye. “I started this, all this,” he gestured to the entirety of the Cave, “fifteen years ago. When things were worse but simpler, better but more difficult.”

Alfred didn’t blink, didn’t nod, didn’t shrug his shoulders. He did try to look encouraging, knowing Bruce wasn’t done.

“Donning the suit was my crusade. Sometimes I wonder if I was ever that young. I try to see if I can remember just how it felt. Mostly innocent. Mostly carefree.” Alfred refrained from commenting on _that_.

Bruce looked back to the monitors, fingers visibly twitching as he refrained from clicking through them again. “Now… Things are different. More villains, different villains. More fighting, longer nights, different sorts of violence. The city destroyed and rebuilt. My body destroyed and rebuilt.”

He turned back to Alfred and smiled somewhat sardonically. “Yet here I am, actually forty. I thought I’d be taken out years ago, by the Joker, Two Face, Bane, one of the gangs, or just a broken line or my own exhaustion.” He laughed painfully. “But no, I keep going, every night, only now I have help and there’s still no end in sight. Dick, Tim, Jason, Babs… The harder we fight, the more we have to fight, it seems.”

He was quiet, lost in thought, and Alfred was almost set to derail whatever train was chugging through Bruce’s head when he continued. “I know everyone upstairs means well, they’re my friends and my family, the people I do this,” another gesture towards the Cave, “with, or who know I do it. The kids are growing up and I’m still here. And sometimes I wonder if I’ll always be here with this same fight. I mean, nothing’s ended Batman, or me, yet.”

“Some of us view that as a positive thing, Master Bruce.”

A ghost of a smirk lifted Bruce’s lips. “I know. Sometimes I do, too. Other times…” The unfinished thought hung in the air unpleasantly, and Alfred became determined to draw Bruce out of his morose mood. He hadn’t been prepared to believe Bruce could ever experience a mid-life existential crisis, but here they were, Bruce sulking in his Cave while there was all manner of celebration upstairs.

Better this than another red convertible and a young blonde on his arm. Best Bruce Wayne wasn’t too cliché.

“Bruce…” The sharp blue eyes met his own, drawn by the informality. “I am not going to tell you what to think or how to feel. I will, however, take this opportunity to remind you of what you do have at your age that many people do not. You have your health. You have family. You have friends. Loyal employees. A beautiful woman who at this moment is probably wondering why you are not by her side.”

He dropped his hand to Bruce’s shoulder and squeezed it. “Don’t be surprised at your good fortune, Bruce. Those of us who interact with you every day are not surprised you’re still with us at this ripe old age. We only thank Heaven that you are here with us and letting us share our small part in your successes.”

One more squeeze and he straightened and dusted imaginary lint off his trousers. “Now, Master Bruce, if you’d prefer I send everyone home so you can sit in this dank refuge with your winged friends, I shall. But I will send the treats and drinks home with the humans and other assorted races currently upstairs. Perhaps the presents, too.” Both he and Bruce knew he was teasing, and Alfred was not about to let his party planning be spoiled by a sulking charge, but he did hope Bruce allowed himself to enjoy the experience of surviving and celebrating. “I hope to see you upstairs.”

With that he climbed the stairs out of the Cave, emerging into the light and going back to the party. Tim narrowed his eyes in question in his direction, and Alfred shrugged slightly, and when he caught Dick’s gaze Dick merely rolled his eyes. Bruce was right about one thing: the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. There was some comfort in that.

Alfred made another circuit of the room, making sure his guests were comfortable, and answering questions about Bruce’s conspicuous absence. Fortunately, everyone in the room knew Bruce rather well and thus wasn’t too perturbed. Actually, Alfred wasn’t sure if that was fortunate or not, but no one seemed inclined to leave, which had to mean something.

He was chatting with Clark Kent when the reporter’s eyes were drawn to something behind Alfred, and he turned to see Bruce talking with Dick, an almost-real smile trying to brighten his face. Then Dick said something that made Bruce almost laugh, and the smile became real and he actually looked happy.

Bruce saw him watching and made his way over, shaking hands with men and hugging women he passed on the way. Clark gave them privacy, and Alfred couldn’t help the smirk on his face as Bruce looked sheepishly at the floor. Then he looked back up and said softly, “Thanks for the party. And everything. I am glad to be here.”

“You’re quite welcome. I’m always happy to help you celebrate.”

They shared a small smile and Bruce left to greet the rest of his guests. Alfred watched him, unable to prevent thoughts of how many times they’d come close to Bruce not surviving to celebrate twenty-six, thirty, thirty-five. It had been a long journey, but not one that was regretted.

However, it would be an even longer stretch to fifty, if tonight was any indication. Long, but certainly something to look forward to.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The joke of course being that in the comics Bruce will probably never officially reach forty...


End file.
